The Dance
by Golden Snitch1981
Summary: An Adaptation of the Deathly Hallows Dance scene. Harry and Hermione share a moment.


**The Dance**

It had been weeks since the fight. Still I played the same moment over in my head of the night he left. As Harry turned the snitch over in his hands and puzzled over the inscription and its meaning I turned my last moments with the two in my head, dissecting my every action, every would've, could've and should've.

I examined the locket sadly, remembering the moments leading up his explosive exit, like molten laver bubbling up and boiling over. I knew the locket was taking effect that night in a brutal almost cruel way that only Voldemort could orchestrate. I almost admired his ingenuity, if I only could not see the effect it took on Harry and especially Ron. I could see Ron simmering, his tumultuous fear and resentment, seething while trapped under his silence.

Yet I had done nothing, concerned with protecting Harry from the locket's stronghold. Because of Harry's connection to Voldemort, I had thought the locket affected him the most. Meanwhile Ron had suffered in silence under its fog of despair, the same fog under which I now sat.

When Ron had asked if I would go with him, my heart had screamed yes, but I could not turn my back on Harry too. He needed me and this war was bigger than me, than Ron, than our feelings. Lives depended on our search for sword and the remaining horcruxes. So I stayed but I knew Harry could see my heart had ran away with Ron and I was a shell of myself.

I tried to distract myself with practicing spells and reading my copy of Tales of Beetle the Bard, but tat only reminded me of Ron's correcting me with his mother's versions of the stories. That only set off more tears. The locket and his absence turned me into a human hose pipe, My usually spontaneous floods of tears had turned to constant tears.

I listened earnestly to the radio, praying I would not hear his name uttered among the dead. That was what I was doing when Harry returned from his hunt, to no avail. He'd fixed himself a bowl of soup from the pot I'd conjured up and sat across from me, but he didn't commence eating it. He stirred it around absently with his spoon, staring intently at me, his full of concern and something else I couldn't quite read or perhaps did not want to.

It was when one of my favourite songs came on the radio that he rested his spoon in the bowl and stood abruptly. Suddenly through a new flood of tears, I saw his hand reaching down to me. I hesitated at first but then I took it in mine and with his help I rose to my feet. He gently reached around my neck and in clasped the locket, setting it aside on the table before taking my hair again. He put his other hand on my waist as only Viktor Krum had done at the Yule Ball in fourth year, and began to move me, a little awkwardly around the floor. But as I fell into his rhythm, his awkwardness fell away and he began adding some crazy steps and whiling me around until I was dizzy, squealing with laughter, the sound it feeling foreign as it escaped my throat. As I draped my arms around his neck,

I was so thankful for Harry's friendship but for a moment I was surprised by his gentleness. I found myself resting my head on his shoulder. My sadness momentarily forgotten, I held him for dear life, for a moment not noticing right away that the music had faded away. He brushed a strand of hair away from my face and I could feel his gaze burning into my cheek. I lifted my head and met his gaze. I'd never noticed how his emerald eyes shone from behind his spectacles until then. It was that moment that I realised what accompanied his looks of concern. Was that - ?

Suddenly his lips met mine and for a moment I indulged in his gentle kiss and returned it.

"I love you, Hermione." Did I really just hear him correctly? Was it a the small voice in my mind, it was full of yearning. Yet it was like shrapnel driving us apart, but still Harry did not let me go.

"Harry, Ginny," I said. "Ron..." Then fresh tears began to fall.

"I'm sorry," Harry muttered, dropping my waist like a hot potato. He quickly returned to his soup as I picked up the locket, once again putting it around my neck. My thoughts returned to Worry about Ron and his whereabouts. It finally hit me how much I loved him, despite my efforts to let him go. A new emotion consumed my heart in that moment. "I'm sorry, Ron," I whispered to myself. Wherever he was I hoped his heart could hear those words, but most of all I hoped he was safe.


End file.
